On Her Majesty's Sissy Service - A Call To Action free porn video

On Her Majesty's Sissy Service - A Call To Action By Katharine Sexkitten The anteroom looked more or less the same as it had fifteen years ago, the last time I'd been inside. The last time I'd been an employee of the organization. Sure, they'd painted and spruced up since then. The walls were a slightly different shade of boring. The colour of a week old newspaper. The desktop was almost bare now, gone were the multiple phones and piles of paperwork strewn about. Clutter was a thing of the past, in this new and digital age. Moneypenny was new, as well. Not the svelte comely busty redhead I remembered. In my day, it was an important but entirely civilian role. Now, I presumed, a position held by someone with vast military training and skills. Certainly based upon looks alone. No longer a woman's job, Moneypenny now had the stature and swagger of a Special Forces graduate, as he welcomed me and offered me tea. I could tell from his physique under the blazer that he was very muscled, very fit, and no doubt trained in the art of killing. No doubt armed as well. The same way I had been, lo so many years ago. "M is just wrapping up a telephone call, and will be with you shortly." Moneypenny went back to typing on his laptop computer, the only electronic device in the room. On a very secure network, knowing the penchant for stealth in this country. I looked around, at the walls and where they joined the ceilings and floors, wondering if they'd gone so paranoid as to install a Faraday cage. It wouldn't surprise me. Vigilance and an almost-limitless budget was a frightful combination in my experience. After a few moments of silently waiting, Moneypenny's computer dinged, and he looked up at me and smiled, in a trained formal way drilled into him by generations of Warrant Officers, and told me that M was ready for me. Whatever updating on the d?cor had happened in the anteroom hadn't made it into M's office. It was almost exactly as I remembered it, right down to the fading carpet and the books on the shelves. Apparently progress comes slower to the higher-ups. M looked up from his chair as I entered the room, not bothering to stand or extend his hand in a greeting. I'd been away for fifteen years, and being retired I'd not kept up on the comings and goings of the bureaucracy. I'd had no idea who the current M was before walking in the door. I presumed the M I knew and faithfully served was years into retirement now. Or no longer living. "Ah, double oh-six nine, good of you to accept my invitation," he said, in that upper-class British voice of experienced life-long privilege, while his eyes scanned me from head-to-toe, revealing nothing in his face. Stoic, was the word some people used. The classic British stiff- upper-lip stone face. The reason why we made good poker players. I call it a look of benign indifference combined with class judgement and disdain. I knew the man, from my former life. His entire career had been spent serving Her Majesty's Government in one capacity or another. A Member of Parliament for a time, an Ambassador for a time, and decades in the upper echelons of government. A member of the peerage. A suit. A player, and a serious one at that. Governments of the day changed from time to time, but M had always been around. And almost all of his time had been spent in and around the halls of power, particularly in foreign affairs, intelligence, and the spy world. We'd never formally met, in all those years, but I knew who he was, and I knew all about him. Including his, how did we used to say it? Peccadillos. His unique personality traits. Which were interesting, but harmless. So, was I surprised he'd made it into this office? A little. Was I curious as to how he got there? Not one bit. He'd been a thorn in the side of intelligence agencies for years, a conservative voice in a world where liberal ideas needed to flourish, and my first reaction was that his placement in the position of M seemed perfectly fitting with all the other inanities of government. Why hire a spy to run the spy agency? Why not just hire the diametric opposite? "Invitation?" I asked, derisively. "Forgive me, M, but the wording didn't strike me as inviting. It seemed more of a direct order." He nodded, and feigned a smile. "These are times of enormous challenges, Blonde," he offered, while motioning for me to take a seat, "and I'm sure you understand that even retired agents are still technically subject to recall." I sat. M opened a file folder, thick as my forearm, and began scanning the papers inside. I assumed it was my personnel file. It looked thick enough. "Double oh-six nine," he continued, "I suppose normally at this point we would engage in an extended period of pleasantries, the social interactions common between people. But I'm not one for the rules of the road, so let's be frank with each other, shall we?" I nodded. "It should come as no surprise to you that we keep track of all of our ex-agents, most especially those with 'double-oh' classification. The license to kill is given out to but a few, and even in retirement Her Majesty's Government would still strive to keep up with your comings and goings. Agreed?" I nodded my head. "Of course I know all of that, M. And do give me some credit," I said, dangerously close to impertinence, "I've always been able to spot your agents, sent to check me out, insinuate their way into my life, and we both know they've always reported back to you the truth, which is that I've been retired for fifteen years, and completely out of the game. I live my life in quiet serenity, away from the madness. I am as invisible as can be, and I've never posed a risk to Crown or country. And I have no plans to change any of that." He nodded, scanning various papers. "Quite so," he said, "quite so. Nothing untoward at all, according to accepted methodology. And yes, it would certainly seem that you 'made' all of our attempts to watch you. From what I can read between the lines, damn near every man we sent to observe you ended up seduced by your charms, and ultimately in your bed." With that, he stared at me. Challenging me. "Not true," I responded. "Damn near every man implies some level of failure. And I," I paused, smiling, "never fail." M had an instant retort. "Proving, I suppose, that all the years of training Her Majesty's Government gave you paid off." I shook my head. "No, I disagree." His eyes met mine. He was either curious about what I might say, or offended that I had dared to correct him. "Training only goes so far, M. You and I both know that. Look at Moneypenny, for instance," I said, motioning to the anteroom behind me, "No doubt highly-qualified in all manners of tradecraft. He probably earned his plum role in your service. He looks the perfect choice for it, physically. Young, built rock solid. But," I paused, "even with all that education and training, would you send him out into the real world, to face those most evil of criminals that I dealt with in my career? Would you trust him to deal with whatever emergency you had with skill and tact and discretion? Does he have the 'double-oh' mindset? Would he succeed, or would he become just another statistic, another name on the honour roll of former military people killed in the line of duty?" M said nothing, but just stared at me. "Over the years, I spotted all your men because I'm better at it than them. Better at it than all of them. Combined." M just continued to stare at me. There was a long and uncomfortable silence in the air. Then, finally, he nodded, just a bit, and just slightly. "Quite," he said. Putting down my file folder, he leaned forward, as if we were suddenly acquaintances and he was about to share some truth, mutually understood to be important, or significant. "I was never a supporter of yours, Blonde. Or the Sissy Squad, as it was called." I nodded. "Yes, I'm well aware of that, M." He continued. "Your talents, your abilities, were undeniable. But I abhorred the morality of your unit, the very idea of it." I nodded again. There was no point in saying anything. His eyes narrowed on me. He was getting to a serious point. "Bloody distasteful, is what it was." I laughed out loud, and could see the anger rise in his face. "Distasteful? You find all our successes distasteful?" He snorted. "I found the entire business to be distasteful. Double-oh agents for the Crown, engaging in sexual exploitation to do intelligence work? Disgusting!" I snorted right back at him. "Exploitation? Are you mad? Do you think the heterosexual agents under your command didn't seduce the occasional target? Are you that old school?" He looked at me, the stoic face again. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. "We utilized our skills to get to our targets through the most basic and common of human emotions. Their sexual desires. Specifically, of course, their kinks. The fact that there are so many bad guys out there who have these deep-seeded sexual desires, the ones you find distasteful," I paused, pointing at the file folder, "is all the more reason to applaud us, instead of condemning us, or finding us distasteful. Or spending years trying to cut our budget, or eliminate us altogether." I paused, and looked at the man, allowing him to understand my knowledge of some of his actions, all those years ago. "Look at the files, M, see how many successes we had. How many evil people we neutralized. Criminals, often extraordinarily dangerous, now in prison. Or dead. Read the files, M, they're right there in front of you." He sat back in his chair, reclining for a few moments. "Do give me some credit as well, Blonde," he said, quietly, using my real last name, "I've no need to read the files. I'm well aware of their details. I remember all of them. Of course. I was there, you see? In the industry, at the highest of levels." I nodded. "Only a fool would deny our effectiveness, M. And you've never struck me as a fool." He nodded his thanks, in a genial upper-class way. "You're right, of course," he said, "there were many very positive outcomes you achieved, on your own and later in charge of your program. And, yes, only a fool would think otherwise. As I say, I remember them all. Who could forget them? I personally concurred on your last promotion, simply based upon your most recent case." My mind spun backwards to that time. "Ah yes," I said, remembering, "we'd eliminated all the leaders of the Communist Urban Mercenaries, far beyond even Number Ten's expectations." "Agreed," he replied, "facts are facts, and the adults in the room have to admit that you and your group swallowed CUM, without question." "Which had transpired," I added, "if memory serves, just after our mission in Eastern Europe, infiltrating the Crimean Orthodox Christian Kossaks, which left their entire network cut to ribbons as I recall." "Yes, indeed, your group sucked the life out of COCK." "Not to mention all of our forays against the Freedom Aryan Group, time after time, year after year. How we established relationships with so many in their cabal, all over the world, slipping our way into all their bank accounts, and dismantling their terrorism once and for all. What would you still be dealing with today if my squad hadn't been there, back then?" My voice had some indignance in it. His eyes recognized it. "Once again, double-oh six nine, no one, least of all me, would deny just how beneficial it was to Her Majesty's Government and to freedom throughout the world that your squad hadn't cozied up to every FAG leader out there, hadn't slept your way into the beds of their FAG upper echelon, including their mysterious leader." I thought about that particular terrorist. I instantly saw his face. A face I'd tried so hard to forget, for fifteen years. I'd almost died at his hands, after spending months slowly and quietly insinuating myself into his world, gaining his trust, learning his passions. Taking his cock into me, at first as part of the job, but soon it became more than that. I had fallen for my mark, and almost lost control. And then instantly, that man's last moments alive flashed by me, as my mind replayed the scene, the revolver in my hand, rising from my purse, aiming at him, and firing, the noise enormous, and then watching the starburst pattern emerge in the middle of his forehead, and the spray of blood and skin and bone and brain matter, all over my silk stockings, and garter belt, and bra, my panties and outer clothes strewn on the floor hurriedly a half hour earlier, before our last lovemaking, both of us exploding in orgasms moments ago, his fucking of me deep and passionate and intense, the greatest of our lives, and then watching myself turn, knowing his security guards would be breaking the door of the bedroom down within seconds, knowing I would have to take care of them as well. Double taps, each man, before barely making my escape, crying the entire time, at the loss of the greatest lover I'd ever experienced. "Dominic was the most evil man I've ever met." M looked at me, considering my appraisal. "Dominic Ignacio Cristian Knofflinger," he paused, "code-named DICK." I nodded my agreement. "You took DICK," he said, softly, and almost with feeling, "and then you retired, isn't that right, Blonde?" Again, I silently nodded. Sitting back in my chair, I crossed my legs, allowing M to see my skirt ride up slightly, baring more of my thighs, perhaps, I wondered, even a brief glimpse of my garter belt, or the top of my lace stockings? I saw the flicker in his eyes, and innately knew that he now was aware of the colour of my panties. He looked up at me. There was a certain interest in his eyes. I recalled what we knew of him from back then, how he'd lived a mostly unimpeachable life, dedicated entirely to public service, and other than the occasional dalliance with young male adult lovers his was a resolutely non-scandalous file. Always above reproach. There'd never been any hint that he might be at all into someone like me. "Blonde," he said, his voice serious, "how up-to-date are you on the affairs of the world, currently?" I shrugged at him. "On purpose, I've dedicated my life to not following any of it." He sighed. "Why?" I asked. "There appears to be a new threat, one of great concern to HQ. Have you heard of," and then he affected a perfect British-educated French accent, "Association National Aux Liberte?" I had not. He looked at me, more serious than before. "Double-oh six nine, Her Majesty's Government needs you back in service. Now. Today. You are hereby ordered to recruit, train, and command a new Sissy Squad. You have an eight-week window, from today, to get your team in place. We have every reason to believe these monsters will be meeting next in two months, when your team can begin operations." He paused again, and got even more serious. "We need every single member of this group eliminated." "Not arrested?" I asked. He shook his head, emphatically. "We need you and your team to take ANAL. All the way. There is credible evidence to suggest that this group, this organization of pure terror, has the funding, equipment and personnel in place to deliver a strike against democracy and freedom all over the world. Here. In Europe. In Asia. In America. All at once. Imagine 911 writ large. They have access, we believe, to a new kind of weapon, and the world will not be safe until that weapon is secured, and all the technology is destroyed." I felt my fear factor go up, just slightly. "What kind of weapon?" "The biological concoction of a madman," he breathed out. "One we've only heard rumours about. Apparently completely odorless, colourless, and tasteless. Easily delivered, it's one hundred percent effective. Within hours every victim will be driven mad, to the point of complete mental breakdowns. They become insane. Certifiably. They go through a few days of increased passions, what must be sheer psychological horror and pain, hallucinations and wild sexual frenzies, of the most outrageous kinds. The stronger of us will last only a short time, inflicting sexual havoc on the people around us, before our final hours of assumed mental anguish leading to our own deaths, almost always by suicide." "Good lord," I whispered. "Indeed," M replied. "Our brightest most learned physicians call it 'Suicide by orgasm'. Truth be told, the poor bastards literally cum themselves to death." I'd be a liar if I said that I wasn't concerned. I'd also be a liar if I said I wasn't the least bit turned on. They cum to death? M continued. "Blonde, you'll have whatever you need, regarding personnel, equipment, and technology. You'll operate out of a secured section of Fenwick Park." I was surprised. That was a highly-secret expanse of land two hours north of London, a private estate once owned by a third-cousin many times removed from one of the Kings, hundreds of years ago. SAS ran it, and lived there. They were the cream of the crop, when it came to military specialists. "The Special Forces chaps don't mind giving up the space?" M shook his head. "They've been told, from on high, to go along with this. Top to bottom." I smiled. "An interesting way of putting it, M." For the first time I saw a bit of colour in his cheeks, a slight flush coming to his face. Perhaps there was some semblance of humanity in there. He reached over to his desk, and picked up a pile of file folders, needing both hands to grip the stack. Then he turned to me, and thrust them in my direction. I took them from him, and put them in my lap. "We've assembled a small group of volunteers. They've no idea what they're up against, mission-specific wise, and you'll have to explain it to them discretely, but all of them are excellent military people, some officers, some non-coms, and all of them fit into who we assume are the 'kind' of volunteer you need." "Kind? What kind is that, M?" I asked, curious as to his answers. He fixed me with his steely gaze. "Cross-dressers. Transvestites. Sissies, or suspected sissies, most in the deep closet and probably denial, some with real-world experience and some still in the fantasy stage, but all of them are most assuredly latent homosexuals." I just stared at him. "And of course you'll also have support staff. Security, transportation, that sort of thing. I doubt any of them are gay, but they'll all do their duty, and obey their orders, which do originate straight from Downing Street." With that, he picked up a single piece of paper from his desktop, and handed it to me. I unfolded it, and saw the letterhead I remembered so well. The Office Of The Prime Minister. I stared at him for a little longer. "And how," I asked, "pray tell, do you determine these volunteers are all sissies? Is there some sort of computer sensor that's been developed since I left?" M shook his head. "Don't be na?ve, double-oh six nine," he muttered, "Her Majesty's Government keeps tabs on everyone, in the military, or government, or foreign service. Your volunteers might initially deny it, but every man fits the overall requirement. Whether they become good agents in the field, that's up to you." I thought about it, while I stared at him. "Why eight weeks?" He smiled. "We've managed to ascertain some things. Three of the four generals in ANAL are somewhat known to us. The fourth is a mystery. They're secretive, and cautious. But we know that three of them, almost certainly related, either cousins or brothers, enjoy the company of, um, well, without putting too fine a point on it, double-oh six nine, they enjoy the company of cross-dressing sissy sluts." I nodded my understanding. He continued. "It's like their private little thing. Now, there is a private gentleman's club in Paris, near our Embassy as it turns out, that caters to men of their desires. You have eight weeks to put your team together, get them up to snuff, and get to the city. We've got a property ready to go, fully setup, so you'll establish your own club and get the word out in the community, and then somehow get those three into your beds. It's considered a strong probability that if they hear about a new Sissy Slut Club, they'll be very interested in visiting. They love the new talent. And we know that they'll be meeting, all four of the leaders, in Paris, in that same time period. Now," he continued, "it's possible all four of them are into fucking feminine sissies, we don't know. Our humint only gets us so far. But regardless, understand this, Blonde, we need you to take ANAL, all the way, or as much as you can. Our intelligence says the three cousins, or brothers, are all keenly into finding new talent and using them for days on end before discarding them and moving on. And this is the dangerous part, Blonde." "Oh?" He nodded. "They're all three unbearably violent, unusually cruel monsters. When they move on, it's always with the sissy slut's death." I could see the concern in his eyes. "Let's not kid ourselves, double-oh six nine," he said, his voice solemn and breathy, "the slightest mistake, by your or any of your team, will almost certainly lead to miserable pain and then death. These volunteers need to understand and accept that." We looked at each other. "Done wrongly, and this is a suicide mission. I shudder to think of the horrors one of us might go through." He seemed genuine. His concern and empathy seemed real. I was beginning to question my thoughts of his character, based on everything I knew from years ago. Perhaps I'd been wrong about him, in some ways. "Us?" I asked. "Us," he said, confidently, and assuredly. "We're all in this battle together, Blonde. Anyone and everyone in Her Majesty's Government, which includes the military. I'm as much a part of this team as anyone." I nodded. "Except you'll not be going into the line of fire, in the field, using your sexual and sensual talents, learning their secrets and taking their passions and finally ending their plans and their lives." M nodded. "Quite," he whispered. "I'm not the one going out there and getting fucked for my Queen and my country." "No," I paused. "You do it for fun, because you love it and it's who you are, and almost always with oiled-up gym monkeys in your bed." I watched the shock register in his eyes. If he hadn't known before that I was keenly aware of his past, he was now. "Which is how it should be," I added, "if it makes you happy. You and I are alike, M, in many ways." "How so?" he asked. I smiled. "We both like to lay back, spread our legs, and have a big sexy man fuck us. Or more than one, at times, eh?" I smiled a little more conspiratorially. He smiled back. "Indeed." I nodded. "Will my squad all be given double-oh designations?" "To a man. And promotions, obviously." "The support staff?" "All promotions, presuming they all keep their mouths shut about it." I smiled. "That's what Special Forces do, is it not? Get medals and promotions as rewards for secret missions? Have a bauble, have a slight raise, and don't tell a soul anything. Forever. The usual fair trade." He nodded. "I'll need a second-in-command, someone I know and trust." "You've been out a long time, Blonde. I can't say there's anyone still in service you'll have had any relationship with." I thought about it. "I had a recruit, back then, just nineteen at the time, just before I left the Sissy Service. He was a comer." "A comer?" I smiled. "An obvious talent, proving his abilities from the ground up, quickly, to everyone's knowledge and satisfaction. It's quite possible he's still in the saddle, is it not?" Looking down at my file, M nodded his head. "Are you referring to Corporal Head?" I smiled, at the insinuation of the lad's real last name, and how it interacted with the man's obvious inclinations and talents. "Indeed, M," I answered, "that's him." He nodded. Then he clicked and clacked on a computer keyboard for a few seconds. "Flight Leftenant Robert Allan Head, aged thirty-five years old, born and raised in Blackpool, his father, one Reginald Head, now deceased, a mother named Elizabeth, currently sixty-two years old, and living in retirement in Torquay. Head himself is on assignment, in France." "Did he stay in the intelligence service? Did he go finish at the school? Is he a double-oh agent?" M answered my questions in order. "Yes, yes with honours, and yes." I hesitated at my next question. "Is he...?" M straightened up in his chair, becoming all business again. "As you well know, the Sissy Service was disbanded, a move I supported at the time, and so Head became what we'll call a normal operative. His career has been successful, he's a good man." Then he paused. "If you're asking if he's still a Sissy, well Blonde, you'll just have to ask him yourself, when you see him." "When I see him?" "Yes," he said, and they reached over and typed out a few lines, "I've just ordered him to report to Fenwick immediately. He'll be there within hours." I nodded. "There are some small things that I need to arrange at my home before I can begin." "Someone to feed the cat and water the ferns?" he asked. I smiled. "Something like that, yes." M nodded. "Write it down, we'll arrange it for you. You have my guarantee. There's no time to waste here, Blonde. Her Majesty needs you and your crew up and running as fast as is humanly possible." "I understand, M. One thing, though." "Which is?" he asked. "I've only brought a small amount of clothes with me. I assumed this would be a short visit, and I would return to my retired life within days. I certainly don't have my old military uniform with me." "Blonde," he said, leaning over to me, "we don't want Major Blonde in charge. We want Jayne Blonde, feminine knock-out in charge. We know for a fact that one of the cousins, or brothers, adores his gurls to be older. In your age bracket. We're expecting you to lead this mission, not just train others. You'll be in there, getting your hands dirty." "Or my mouth," I said, provocatively. "Or your bottom," he added, even more provocatively. We smiled together, sharing the moment. "Blonde," he whispered, and put his hand on my knee, softly, "the Queen needs you to get ANAL, take ANAL all the way, find their chemical weapon of mass orgasmic destruction and neutralize it. For the good of the country, and the world." "M," I asked, enjoying the heat of his palm on my leg, feeling it through my lace stockings, "how many other countries are sending their own Sissy Squads to deal with these monsters?" "The Yanks and the Russians, for sure. We assume the French as well, and possibly the Israelis. But it doesn't matter. You're the best Sissy agent there's ever been, hands down. Washington knows it, as does Moscow and Paris and Tel Aviv. This is your mission, Blonde. Your destiny." I nodded my understanding, as he sat back up and began his final summation. "Go out there and fuck your way into their organization, and then use that talented sissy crew and their lovely sissy pussies and destroy ANAL. Bring ANAL down. I never want to hear about ANAL for as long as I live." Then he paused. "Well, not in that context." I laughed. "Indeed, M," I said, proudly, "we both want ANAL the terrorists gone, but ANAL the activity, that's something different." He nodded. "Something we both want. We both need." I agreed with him. Then he looked wistful. "Two bottoms, you and I. It's a shame, in some ways, isn't it?" I nodded my head. "Two bottoms can have fun together, but not the best kind of fun. I'm not looking to rule the world. This bottom just wants to rock someone's world, every day and every night." M turned bright red. "Go out there and do us proud, Blonde. I envy you." "Envy me? Going into danger? Risking my life?" "No," he said, softly, "getting all that cock, as part of your job." This time it was my turn to smile. I stood up, and saluted him. "Major Blonde, Commander of Sissy Squad, reporting for duty." He nodded his acceptance. "What's the first thing you'll do, Blonde? Your first action?" I smiled at him. "I'm going out to your anteroom and suck Moneypenny's cock. I haven't had any cum in me for hours, and I'm hungering for it. And he looks like he's packing quite a beauty in his pants." M looked a little shocked, but in an almost proprietary way. It made me think, for a second. "Really?" he asked. "Is there time for that, double-oh six nine?" I nodded, enthusiastically. "M, there's ALWAYS time for sucking cock. First rule of a sissy worth a license to kill. And it will make his day, I promise you. It's good for morale, after all, to have your staff satisfied and happy in their work." His look changed to one of gratitude. "Her Majesty thanks you." I nodded, waiting. Finally, I spoke. "And you? Do you thank me, M?" "For doing your duty?" "No," I said, fixing my eyes on his, "for sucking Moneypenny off. You'll view it, on your computer screen. I know I would, if the situation were reversed. I'm more than aware that you have a camera or two out there, so you can see what goes on. And even money says that you're letting him fuck you now and again, am I right? What would be the point of being in your position without taking advantage of the perks? Like a hunky younger man out there with a great looking package?" He just smiled at me, and ran his right hand down his chest, across his belly, and to his groin, which he slowly and sensuously massaged, openly, in front of me. "Thank you, Blonde," he whispered, "I'm going to enjoy watching you blow my Moneypenny. But promise me one thing, would you?" "Name it, M." His eyes went wide, and his voice became hoarse. "After you've sucked him off, after you've swallowed all of his cum, and he can shoot a lot of it, let me tell you, please get him hard again, with your lovely mouth? I'll probably cum watching you give him head, and I'll be desperate for him to run in here and make love to me, in any position he wants, I don't care, just as long as he fucks me long and hard. Would you do that for me?" I nodded, and saluted again. "My pleasure, M." Just before I opened the door, he 'ahemed', and I looked back at him. "Good luck, double-oh six nine," he said, real feeling in his voice, "save the world for us, by taking ANAL." "I'll do my best, M." End of Chapter One.